Offer Me to You
by roktavor
Summary: Maybe, for now, what he needs is a different plan. Something more laidback. Just to take the pressure off of himself a bit. If it doesn't work, he can always go back to his initial idea – but there's a new one forming that's undeniably appealing. A very hands-off approach….


**A/N:** For BruAbba week day 2 prompt: marriage.

(Also for the sake of this fic, everyone is sharing a house,)

* * *

 **Offer Me to You**

Buccellati has the ring out again, fiddling with it as he sits on the edge of their bed. It's a simple band of black metal, sleek to look at and cool to the touch – though it's warming up from his continued handling.

At the moment, he's trying to work up the courage to go through with a certain plan.

When he had bought the ring, he had been feeling fully optimistic and prepared, sure, but now that he has it home and in his hands, ready to be gifted at any moment….

This close to an actual proposal, his nerves are hitting full force.

And that's funny, isn't it? Because he's so sure that this is what he wants. The problem, he supposes, is that he's not sure how Abbacchio will react.

Of course, Buccellati _hopes_ that Abbacchio will want to marry him just as much, but there's no _guarantee_ of that. It's not like they need a step like this; they're both fully committed, he knows, and he's never been so in love with someone, which is all that matters, right?

Still Buccellati can't shake the desire to call Abbacchio his husband. Even though with their lifestyle, that could be dangerous. …Is it even okay to want this?

He sighs, mouth dipping into a frown. All he's doing now is thinking himself in circles that he's already been around and around and _around_.

Clenching the ring in his fist, he flops backwards onto their bed. Every single concern or worry he has, he's thought over time and again and ruled this _worth it_ , so why is he still so nervous? It shouldn't be too hard to calm himself and go through with his plan of popping the question over dinner tonight.

Except that it _is_ , and Buccellati finds the prospect making his stomach churn with nerves. Because he wants Abbacchio to say _yes_. Because he wants to do right by Abbacchio. Because he wants to make Abbacchio happy.

…No matter how hard Buccellati stares at the ceiling, it doesn't offer him any answers or comforts.

Maybe, for now, what he needs is a different plan. Something more laidback. Just to take the pressure off of himself a bit. If it doesn't work, he can always go back to his initial idea – but there's a new one forming that's undeniably appealing. A very hands-off approach….

Buccellati has Sticky Fingers open a zipper on his chest, in a vertical line right over his heart. A small pocket is all he needs, and he drops the engagement ring into it, zipping it closed.

Now all that's left to do is to wait for Abbacchio to notice this new addition, get curious about it, and…Buccellati will cross the rest of that bridge when he comes to it.

It's been three days, and Abbacchio hasn't said a word.

Maybe this was a bad idea, after all, Buccellati thinks, because now he finds himself caught in a struggle to suppress his ever-growing anticipation.

He's doing his best to keep patient and relaxed, of course, but. In all honesty, he didn't foresee this taking so long; his nerves still kick up now and again, and he's downright anxious sometimes. The need to be close to Abbacchio is strong these days, too, which might have _something_ to do with the desire for him to _notice the damn zipper already_.

Of course, Buccellati could always go with his original plan of asking like a normal person. Now, though, he's kind of invested in this. It's more personalized, and it really does relieve a lot of the pressure of finding the perfect moment….

So, he waits.

And while he does, he has to – several times! – swat away curious hands that don't belong to Leone Abbacchio.

Fugo is the first to notice, but drops it once Buccellati tells him that it's not important (although with the amount of times he's caught Fugo staring at it, it's clear he's still curious).

Then comes Mista, whose wrist Buccellati has to grab to keep him from tugging the zipper down. Mista fingers the zipper, and tilts his head at Buccellati with a knowing grin spreading over his face. It's unlikely that Mista has him figured out, Buccellati knows, but he _does_ know who Mista will take this gossip to.

Sure enough, Giorno and Trish prove to be the next obstacles. Giorno offers nothing but knowing looks, while Trish offers a thumbs-up and a wink at every opportunity.

The thought that any of them actually know _exactly_ what Buccellati has up his sleeve (or, rather, on his chest) would be unlikely – if Giorno and Fugo weren't involved. Buccellati has no doubt that Giorno can figure the whole mess out, somehow. Paired with Fugo, who likes to micromanage everyone's budgets, it's likely that they have _some_ idea.

And, of course, they'll share that information with Trish and Mista.

Fortunately, none of them are crass enough to let anything slip to Abbacchio.

…Well, Mista _might_ , but chances are he'll be so wordy and roundabout about it that Abbacchio will get frustrated and dismiss it as rambling.

The real trouble will come when Narancia inevitably finds out. Buccellati loves him dearly, but the boy can't hide his feelings very well. Plus Abbacchio has a definite soft spot for him.

Hopefully, Abbacchio notices before word spreads further.

In a way, this whole scenario is funny. Abbacchio is the one closest to Buccellati, physically, emotionally, mentally, et cetera. He's the one who holds him, and kisses him, and curls up in bed with him _every single night_ – yet still he, of all people, hasn't noticed.

Buccellati can't even throw hints to him to get the ball rolling! Anything he does is a guaranteed dead giveaway, which defeats the entire purpose.

It's nothing but a waiting game now, and he has to keep reminding himself that he very much signed up for this with his own two hands.

x

"Are the others acting weird, or is it just me?"

Buccellati almost falls over while stepping into his pajama pants. "What," he says, righting himself and clearing his throat as he settles his pants around his hips, "what are you talking about?"

It's the evening of his fifth day of waiting, and so far this is the only sign Abbacchio's given that he has any idea that anything is going on.

"The others," Abbacchio repeats. "They seem like they're up to something."

"Oh?" Horrifyingly, Buccellati can feel himself _blushing_. If he doesn't get a grip, all of his patience and care will be for nothing, here.

Abbacchio tugs on a worn black t-shirt, and then pulls his hair free of it. "Yeah – they keep going quiet when I come around. And then Mista gets buddy-buddy with me, and Trish keeps smiling…I've even caught Giorno staring at me."

"…That does sound odd." Buccellati can't help if it takes him longer than usual to toss his socks into the hamper. He needs a moment with his back to Abbacchio to collect himself. Even without saying anything, their friends are threatening to spoil the surprise. He should've known.

But. Maybe this is good? Maybe it'll make Abbacchio curious, and therefore more observant. He does have a certain drive to discover the truth, after all, when he puts his mind to something.

Either way, Buccellati needs to get a grip and brace himself.

"You haven't noticed? Fugo says it's nothing, but Narancia keeps whining that no one tells him anything." Dressed for bed, Abbacchio wanders over to his dresser to run a hairbrush through his hair one last time. "I think they're planning to lace my lipstick with superglue again."

Buccellati's mouth twitches into a smile. "That was one time, Leone." (Honestly, the best part of that memory is how he had distracted Abbacchio from vengeance by 'making sure his lips still worked properly'….)

"Fucking brats," Abbacchio says, without any real heat. He tosses brushed hair over his shoulders and turns back to Buccellati. "We should keep an eye on them."

And something about the sight of him, free of make-up, completely wrong in his suspicions, and wearing that little smirk that's saved for inside jokes, does something to Buccellati. He can feel that faint flush refusing to leave his face, making his ears burn. "Yes, I guess we should."

"…You're blushing." Abbacchio is squinting at him like he can't believe it, and stepping closer as if to confirm it.

Which means it's time for the best quick thinking Buccellati can come up with on short notice: playing dumb.

"Hm?"

A hand reaches out, the palm warm against Buccellati's already heated face. "Are you okay?" Abbacchio asks, brows furrowing.

"I'm fine," Buccellati answers, probably too terse and quick about it, but there's nothing he can do once it's out. This close, Abbacchio just _has_ to notice that zipper still gleaming on Buccellati's chest.

"You're sure?" Ah, damn – now Abbacchio is starting to look _seriously_ suspicious, which may or may not be the desired effect. It's kinda down to what he says next, which is: "You don't know what they're up to, do you?"

And yeah, that confirms that it was not, indeed, the desired effect.

Buccellati shakes his head a bit, unsure if he's relieved or disappointed. Either way his pulse is slowing when he hadn't even realized that it had been racing in the first place. "No – they don't let me in on those things."

Abbacchio's got a dubious sort of concerned expression now. "And you're sure you're okay?"

Okay, so Abbacchio isn't the most observant lately – at least when it comes to shiny gold zippers that are honestly too garish to belong to pajamas and so therefore are highly out of place _come on_ – but at least he's sweet. Buccellati finds himself giving a small smile.

"I'm fine, Leone."

Gentle fingers tuck a strand of hair behind Buccellati's ear, Abbacchio's eyes searching his face. "You'd tell me if you weren't?"

And Buccellati nods his reassurance, because the most that's wrong with him at the moment is the occasional bout of mild impatience and an influx of affection for the man in front of him.

x

Two days later, Buccellati is the first one up as usual. It's been a week since his initial planned proposal, and a week since he had installed the vertical zipper in his chest.

…Honestly, at this point, Buccellati is considering a deadline of sorts.

Not that he's impatient, or anything.

Just that this is getting ridiculous.

Surely Abbacchio isn't _this_ absentminded.

Bustling around the kitchen as he brews coffee, Buccellati tries not to think about it. There's plenty on their plate for the day, after all, and Giorno should be down any minute now to discuss everything, followed shortly by Fugo, and then a very grumpy Abbacchio.

Buccellati is wondering if they would be better off investing in another coffee pot when he hears a familiar gait on the stairs.

His teammates must be going out of order today, because it's definitely Abbacchio who stalks into the kitchen, sidles up next to Buccellati with an arm around his waist, and noses aside his hair to kiss him on the temple. From the feel of it, Abbacchio already has his lipstick on, but Buccellati is feeling altogether too warm to worry over the black smudge left on his face.

"You're up early," Buccellati says.

Abbacchio's already made-up for the day, although his clothes are more casual, and his hair is un-styled where it's tucked behind his ears. He gives a grunt of annoyance, stepping away from Buccellati in favor of reaching for a coffee mug. "Narancia and Fugo were arguing about something."

"Ah." Buccellati makes a mental note to talk to them – though, the both of them are up awfully early, too. Maybe they hadn't slept at all? In that case, he'll _definitely_ have to talk to them….

"Don't worry," Abbacchio says, "I already yelled at them."

Oh, Buccellati is sure he did.

"Figured I might as well get up," Abbacchio continues, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He gets on tiptoe, going for the grappa they keep on the topmost cabinet shelf, but Buccellati grabs his wrist before he can open the bottle.

He gets a sour look for that one, but Buccellati pries it out of his hand nonetheless. "After dinner," he says, "you can have your _caffé corretto_ after dinner."

With only mild grumbling, Abbacchio settles for normal, black coffee.

"It's too early for alcohol, Leone."

"It's too early to be _awake_ , Bruno."

Buccellati shoos him out of the way. He has to get on even more of a tiptoe than Abbacchio to reach the highest shelf, lifting himself onto the counter a bit so that he can put the grappa back.

While he's up there, nudging the bottle as far as he can from the edge of the shelf, he feels a hand at his chest, and it _can't be_.

"What's this?" Abbacchio asks.

A glance downward confirms that long, pale fingers are fiddling with the gleaming zipper – and Buccellati doesn't have time to say anything before they tug it open. The ring falls out, pinging off of the counter before landing on the floor.

…That's what Buccellati gets for making it vertical instead of horizontal.

Abbacchio is squinting down at the floor, so Buccellati doesn't have time to panic before he scrambles down from his perch. He presses a hand to Abbacchio's chest to keep him from bending down, and steps in close so he can't see the floor.

Fortunately, this pulls Abbacchio's attention to him.

Unfortunately, Buccellati has no real idea what to do with said attention.

The obvious course of action is to go through with his plan. But he's. It's just that. Well. He wasn't _expecting_ this. Which he knows is the entire point of this idea in the first place, but _still_.

"Buccellati?" Abbacchio's got a quizzical expression on his face. "What's –"

If Abbacchio finishes that question, Buccellati will lose his nerve entirely – he can already feel his ears heating up – so he holds up a finger for silence, ducking his head. "I'll…I'll get it."

Both of Abbacchio's eyebrows raise, but he doesn't try to interfere as Buccellati slowly sinks to the floor. Buccellati is grateful for this, being that his insides are alight with nerves. His stomach's all giddy, and his chest feels light.

This is probably his last chance to brush this off and pretend it's nothing. Though, he's already acting strange, he knows, and Abbacchio is sure to be curious. Any excuse Buccellati comes up with won't satisfy or convince him. Worst case scenario, Abbacchio will wind up using Moody Blues to figure out exactly what Buccellati had _really_ been up to, and that'll be an even _bigger_ affair to deal with….

But this is hardly an ideal location, right? Any of their teammates could come in at any time; Narancia and Fugo are already awake, and Giorno should be soon….

Sometime amongst all his worrying, Buccellati's crouch takes him the whole way down. He's careful to keep his head bowed, hiding the ring from Abbacchio's line of sight. He's lucky it didn't bounce away too far.

Last chance, but Buccellati can't bring himself to back out.

That wouldn't be fair.

The ring is cool against his fingers as he picks it up. It looks exactly the same as it did when he first sealed it away, of course, and he stares at it while drawing in a deep breath.

And then, very carefully, he shifts his position, sinking one knee to the ground.

"Bruno, seriously, what're you –" Abbacchio cuts himself off, eyes going wide when they spot the ring that Buccellati is offering him.

"Leone," smiles don't typically come easy to Buccellati, especially now that he's so damn _nervous_ , but his mouth seems to be fighting to form one, anyway, "will you marry me?"

Abbacchio makes an almost startled noise, one hand flying to his face while the other clutches at the front of his shirt. There are definitely tears in his eyes as he presses a palm over his mouth.

In his chest, Buccellati's heart is pounding, and it's easier to smile now, even though Abbacchio's tears are making his own form on reflex.

And Abbacchio doesn't even say anything before he's on his knees, too, slipping past the still-extended hand holding the ring so that he can shove his mouth against Buccellati's. The force of the kiss has Buccellati rocking a bit, and he slips down into a sitting position when he can't quite steady himself.

" _Yes_ ," Abbacchio says, immediately upon pulling away. There are tear tracks on his face when he dives back in again, and again, and _again_ , scooting forward into Buccellati's lap. He drops kiss after kiss on Buccellati's mouth, mumbling things like " _fuck_ yes," and "holy shit," and "god what the hell," in between.

All Buccellati can do is hum into his mouth, as it's too occupied to form words. Excited and relieved, laughter bubbles out of his chest and into Abbacchio's kisses.

"Don't laugh at me," Abbacchio grouses, pausing in his affections. His lipstick is smeared (it's probably all over Buccellat's face, too), and his eye makeup is smudged from his tears, but he's smiling through it all. "You're crying, too."

And, ah, yeah, Buccellati's face _does_ feel wet. "I'm just happy!" This time, he's the one who kisses Abbacchio.

" _Eugh_!"

The exaggerated noise of blatant disgust interrupts their celebration. Buccellati's lips slip off of Abbacchio's as he turns at the waist to glare behind himself, and Buccellati tips to the side to see past him.

"Get a room!" Narancia complains, pointing at them.

"The kitchen floor? Really?" Fugo grumbles, shouldering past Narancia in pursuit of coffee.

Buccellati opens his mouth to explain, but Abbacchio is faster. He snatches up the nearest throwable object, and lobs it in the general direction of their spectators.

Problem is, 'the nearest throwable object' just so happens to be the ring still loosely clutched in Buccellati's hand.

 _Other_ problem is, Abbacchio doesn't realize what he's done until Narancia has already caught said ring.

"Ooh, this is nice!" There's an impish grin on Narancia's face as he brandishes the ring between thumb and forefinger, waving it through the air in a clear taunt.

Abbacchio scrambles out of Buccellati's lap, crossing the kitchen in two strides, while Narancia takes off at a dead run.

"Give that back, you little shit!"

Two sets of feet thunder up the stairs, one clearly heavier than the other.

"Nuh-uh, you _gave_ it to me~!"

Giorno waltzes in, looking awfully composed for someone who likely just walked through the commotion, and makes a beeline for the coffee machine. He glances down at Buccellati, a pleasant smile on his face. "I take it the proposal went well?"

" _Bruno_! As soon as we're married, we're getting our own _fucking_ house away from these _goddamn_ _brats_!"

" _Ack_ –! Buccellati – he's _killing_ me – _agh_ , leggo already –!"

Buccellati returns Giorno's smile, biting his lip as he tries not to laugh. "Yes." The sound of Mista's excited yelling has joined the fray upstairs, along with Trish's loud complaints at being woken up. "Yes, it did."

* * *

 **A/N:** Right, so. This is actually a rewrite of a oneshot I wrote 3.5 years ago. I still liked the concept and the basic outline, but scrapped p much everything else. That first draft way back then was written in a serious tone, can you imagine,

Got the title from Dead Or Alive's song Come Inside.

Thanks for reading!


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